Words&Dirt

A flow of fresh air fell into your field––
the open door, a portal to things abandoned
but not forgotten. Breeze calls the tree limbs
home, slanting shade into your slipstream,
sunlit, warm and worn. This journey’s
craft banks broadly, traversing the low and
languorous byway, the last stop before
oblivion. Breath holds its pattern locked
out and shut down. Until that door changes
everything.

Old gains grafted to a folded space––
the open heart, a portal to things abandoned
but not forgotten. The crawling sense that
categories caused this crash; a world split
this way can never be whole. Three strikes,
you’re out! Is that how it is? Is this the game
you are playing? The ball’s coming, your eye on
it. Seams in rotation, bending back to reunite
is with was. Blinking now is your graceful
collapse.

Nothing nods in skin’s surcease––
the open eye, a portal to things abandoned
but not forgotten. To speak of this emptiness
is to fill it with everything unwanted; to let it
be is to accept your final plight of passage. Allow,
allow, allow. A low voice is all it takes to
curb the carriage of time. A soft touch is all
it takes to unfurl the flag of love. A steady gaze
is all it takes to send you sailing forth. Destination
unknown.